


And We're Still Chasing Refracted Light

by dorianpavus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Digital Art, F/M, Ficlets, Future Fic, Mental Health Issues, NSFW Art, References to Abuse, References to Assault, Scott is Lysaac's part time boyfriend, pre-full triad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorianpavus/pseuds/dorianpavus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All this - the stained glass, the church, the white dress and suits, the fairy tale - they belonged in someone else's life. Lydia had left that life behind on the lacrosse field, leaked out with her blood. Isaac had lost the white picket fence earlier, in the violent crash of metal that took his mother, the bullet fire that ripped his brother away, in the dark of that basement staring at moonlight through air holes. Yet, somehow, here they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/gifts).



> Pinch hit for the [teen wolf rare pair exchange](http://twrarepairexchange.tumblr.com).
> 
> [thenemeton](http://thenemeton.tumblr.com), I really hope you like this. This was actually the second thing I started for your gift, but the first spiralled rather rapidly out of control. This one was originally supposed to be cunnilingus art, but then I decided Lydia should be in fancy lingerie and it, too, spiralled away from me.

> "I feel ridiculous."
> 
> "You do not look ridiculous." Scott's voice is an odd mix of indulgent, amused and exasperated. Isaac can't really blame him for that, though, given Scott's heard this particular complaint at least three times already.
> 
> "I look like a waiter."
> 
> Scott sighs heavily and curls a hand around Isaac's wrist, stopping him from fussing with his cuff links. It's reassuring, anchoring; even if he's not Isaac's anchor anymore, Scott's still a solid calming presence. He's only gotten more so, over the years, as he's grown into his role as Alpha and come to terms with it.
> 
> "You really, _really,_ do not look like a waiter." Scott squeezes his wrist for a moment before he lets go, reaches up with a sigh to straighten the bow tie Isaac pulled askew in his fidgeting. "Okay?"
> 
> Isaac sighs, drags a hand back through his hair before he nods. Scott gives him a reassuring grin and claps him on the shoulder as he steps back. Isaac's pretty sure Scott's going to laugh at him if he starts pacing; he takes a seat instead and tries to resist the urge to _freaking_ fidget. He needs to do… something. Anything, really, that isn't sitting here, looking at the clock every five minutes.
> 
> "Remind me why I'm doing this, again?"
> 
> "Lydia. Plus, Allison will just totally freaking stab you to death if you try and bail now"
> 
> "With knives. Right."
> 
> Scott is _definitely_ laughing at him. He's not even doing a good job at pretending he's not. Isaac would mind more, but he's sheepishly aware that he's the stereotype of the anxious and jittery groom right now. He's just not sure how to _stop_.
> 
> Scott drops down in the seat opposite him, lips twitching.
> 
> "Wasn't this your idea in the first place?"
> 
> "Yeah, but… Lyd was doing this thing with scarves and a strap on and-." He huffs and drags another hand back through his hair. "Plus, I meant like… Vegas."
> 
> Scott stares at him with vague incredulity. "You asked Lydia to get married in _Vegas_?"
> 
> Isaac laughs, grins a bit at Scott's vaguely stricken expression. "She didn't go for it. Said if we were going to do it, we were going to do it _properly_."
> 
> "So?"
> 
> "So we're doing it properly."
> 
> Scott laughs. "And you really thought she'd go for the Vegas thing?"
> 
> Isaac huffs, rolls his eyes a bit. "Pretty sure we already established this wasn't exactly a well-thought out plan. I mentioned the scarves and strap-on, right? Because there were scarves. And a strap-on."
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> They were never supposed to end up here, the two of them. Isaac was supposed to be a distraction; a few weeks with someone who knew what he was doing and knew enough to clear out after he'd done it without asking stupid questions like 'are you okay?' or 'do you want to get dinner sometime?'. Isaac hadn't been looking for anything more than a fling; never seemed interested in more than that with anybody, with the trail he was leaving behind him. It should have worked out that way; it was _supposed_ to work out that way. A few weeks, _maybe_ the occasional relapse hook up if Isaac lived up to his growing reputation, end of story.
> 
> Instead, she'd taken a misstep somewhere and stumbled onto the quiet under the recklessness, the wary caring under the sarcasm, found all the fractures hiding under his surface. Quite a pair, they made. Put enough light on them and you'd see it shining through the cracks.
> 
> She wonders, sometimes, what Isaac would look like if he was whole and solid, if he'd had the life he should have had. But that Isaac wouldn't be here with her now, she's sure, wouldn't understand that the nights she kicked him out to sleep in the guest bed that it wasn't about _him_ but memories. Still, though, she'd give him that life if she could.
> 
> She's not sure what made Isaac stay. He almost hadn't; she thought he'd bolted after the first time he'd shown her a vulnerability, again when she'd brought up feelings for the first time. She doesn't know what made him come back, thinks she probably owes Scott a thank you for it, but he'd come back, but whatever it was, and whatever he'd decided, he hadn't wavered since. She'd asked, once, and he'd just smiled and gone down on her. He's _hers_ since, though; the only way he's leaving is if she tells him to go.
> 
> All this - the stained glass, the church, the white dress and suits, the fairy tale - they belonged in someone else's life. Lydia had left that life behind on the lacrosse field, leaked out with her blood. Isaac had lost the white picket fence earlier, in the violent crash of metal that took his mother, the bullet fire that ripped his brother away, in the dark of that basement staring at moonlight through air holes. Yet, somehow, here they are.
> 
> An illusion of normality, another veneer over the cracks in their foundations, hiding them from public view. It's good for them, too, she thinks; they'd lost this, but they're going to take it back anyway. Past Isaac's shoulder, she can see Scott's small, touched smile when he realises they'd skipped the lines in the vows about only each other and squeezes Isaac's hands to communicate her self-satisfaction; the priest had been less than thrilled at the alteration, but he'd also wanted her to swear to _obey_ and no priest was a match for Lydia Martin.


	2. Chapter 2

> "Your Mom gets handsy when she's tipsy." Isaac's voice is low and amused as he comes up behind her, one arm circling her waist as he drops an absent kiss on the top of her head.
> 
> Lydia smiles; leans back into the solid support of his chest, lets him take her weight and curls a hand over his, tips her head back to run her eyes along his jawline.
> 
> "Aww. Does my big strong werewolf husband need me to go defend his virtue?"
> 
> Isaac barks a laughs, teeth flashing in a brief grin. "If I had any, yeah."
> 
> She smiles, idly fiddling with the band on his finger, content to slip into quiet for the moment, before the next round of well-wishers and people wanting dances descends on them; for an event that's predicated on the idea of the two of them together, they're spending a statistically significant amount of time separated. Isaac doesn't seem to mind, just curls his arm around her protectively tighter and rests his chin on top of her head.
> 
> "Is that… does Derek have his hands on Allison's ass?"
> 
> Lydia smiles, smugly. "Yep."
> 
> "And this has been going on…?"
> 
> "A couple of weeks."
> 
> Isaac pauses for a moment. "You've been holding out on me."
> 
> She smirks, tips her head back to make sure he can see it. "Sweetheart, you're a werewolf. I _assumed_ you could smell it on them."
> 
> Scott shows up before Isaac has a chance to reply, holding a plate of canapés.
> 
> "Congrats, guys." Scott's grin is soft, and a little wavering. Lydia is _completely_ unsurprised that Scott is a sap about weddings. "Here, I kinda noticed you guys were getting cock-blocked on the food front."
> 
> "Paid half a fortune for dinner and I think we've gotten maybe three bites all night. Thanks, Pretty Boy." Isaac shifts slightly, adjusts his hold on her waist so he can take the plate without letting go of her.
> 
> Lydia adds a smile to Isaac's comment, leans up to kiss the corner of Scott's mouth in thanks before she settles back against Isaac's chest, picks out a mini quiche from the plate while Scott gives her a delighted, small smile.
> 
> "You don't have to-"
> 
> "Pssh." She cuts him off, resists the urge to roll her eyes. "This doesn't change anything. You're still welcome whenever."
> 
> She wasn't sure when this thing with Scott had started; it had snuck up on all of them. Scott coming over to talk Pack with Isaac turned into Scott staying for dinner more often than not, morphed into movie nights, shifted one night into finding Scott slotted in between them like he fit. Somehow, quietly, without anyone saying anything, it had grown into something; still fragile, still seeming like it might dissolve if they put too much attention into it. Scott had crept in somehow without anyone noticing, a bit here, a bit there, slowly. Lydia still wasn't entirely sure what it was, if it was going to grow into anything, but she'd rather have the chance to find out or not.
> 
> Scott's smile brightens further, and he nudges closer to them. "You sure?"
> 
> Isaac huffs a little into her hair, reaches out so he can squeeze Scott's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, we're sure."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My working file name for this piece was 'Isaac wins at life' and I feel that is an accurate assessment.


	4. Chapter 4

> They don't do this much - not sex, not the particular types, but more generally; usually, they tend to rougher, faster, harder, to Lydia's nails dragging down Isaac's back and Isaac's teeth grazing her throat, to rutting until they knot, to desperate clinging in the dark when one of them is chased out of sleep by the darkness they try and keep tamped down, or to lazy morning fumbling.
> 
> But this, slow and gentle and quietly building, eye-contact and slowly shedding clothes, as much idle re-exploration as actual sex, isn't something they do often. Sometimes, it's just too intense, too close, more naked emotional vulnerability than either of them are really comfortable with, most of the time.
> 
> Lydia's fingers curl in his hair, gently tugging, and he follows obediently, let's her guide him up onto the bed and onto his back, gets his fingers in her hair as it comes tumbling down, rests his hand on her cheek and guides her mouth down to his.


	5. Chapter 5

 

> Isaac's weight is comforting, the way it presses her into the mattress, reassuring in it's familiarity. It's a seemingly simple thing, to anyone else, this - sleeping together, curled up in the same space. For them, it was months of work before they'd figured out how to navigate it, how to fit together without either of them feeling trapped, something of a triumph when they finally worked out ways that didn't call up Peter or leave Isaac fitful and closed in. It's easy now, but a hard-won easiness built carefully around the jagged edges of the damage and detritus of their subconsciouses.
> 
> They've left one of the lights on. She should get up and get it, but… she's comfortable, and loath to untangle herself. It's not that bothersome, it can wait. Still though… she sighs; she really _should_ get it.
> 
> "Lyd?" Isaac's voice is heavy; sleep-logged with drowsiness, even the soft sigh enough to stir him. She's never quite managed to put her finger on whether that's down to leftover wariness from everything that's happened, or if it's just a matter of werewolf senses. Both, probably, to some degree.
> 
> "I'm okay. Shh." She drags a hand through his curls, tries to soothe him back into sleep. Being Pack Second doesn't leave him enough sleep as it is, especially with as big as the McCall pack's gotten, without him losing more on her account.
> 
> He nuzzles sleepily at her stomach, runs a lazy hand down the back of her thigh.
> 
> "D'you want…?" He will too, she knows; wake himself up to get her to sleep. Not that _that's_ the problem tonight. At all. Those bases had all been pretty thoroughly covered earlier. She's not sure _what_ the problem is, honestly.
> 
> "No. I'm okay. Go back to sleep." And she _is_ okay, even by normal people standards rather than their rather heavily downwards adjusted scale. She's just awake, but there's nothing keeping her that way, really. Maybe she's just savouring the moment.


End file.
